Quietus
by Spylace
Summary: A selkie story with a twist. Ichigo is a hunter and Toushiro becomes his unwilling captive.


**Title:** Quietus**  
>Summary: <strong>A selkie story with a twist. Ichigo is a hunter and Toushiro becomes his unwilling captive.**  
>Rating:<strong> T**  
>Pairing:<strong> Kurosaki Ichigo/Hitsugaya Toushiro**  
>Notes:<strong> I was working on something when woe, the computer ate it. In despair, I fled to the deepest archives of my hard drive where cobwebbed fragments were abound, languishing in neglect. This particular story happened to catch my eye and the rest well... read and find out :)**  
>Warning:<strong> Violence, a bit of squicky stuff, all mistakes are mine**  
>Word count:<strong> 3300+

.

He stood on the edge of the ice, wetting his lips on the slippery melt, his prey for the night beside him black and shriveled, barely recognizable as chunks of it broke out and disintegrated into the open air. At the snap of a twig in the bushes, he looked up, ears poised and eyes narrowed like pine needles beneath the frost. When the boy appeared, he took half a step, traversing miles over the frozen lake, fleeing like a whisper or a half-dreamed mirage.

Wolves were sacred to Karakura. Supposedly, they thought of them as the spirit of their ancestors turned to watch over them. But superstition did not fill empty stomachs nor put a roof over their heads. When winter turned harsh liked it ought, the villagers crawled out past the thin borders with guns and stone slings.

Before he knew it, he was almost at the line of trees, beneath the yellow moon hung low on their branches. Though far away, he heard the slide of the trigger like his own heartbeat. Then he knew nothing more.

.

Night had fallen by the time the boy found him, an oppressive silence spilling over the entirety in his wait. Toushiro paddled in the shallow water, his fur dyed red and mud lacing his throat. Legs stiffening at the fast approach, he regarded the boy with quiet sort of eyes, as though all the pain from the bullet had faded and in its place, resignation.

Swallowing, the boy reached out and grabbed a slim ankle, dragging him back on the ice. Despite his fragile shape, the boy was strong, his hair like coarse sunbeams against the harsh moonlight. Gurgling, Toushiro began to struggle like a summer trout on the end of a line, having glimpsed the bolt of steel in the blond's other hand. His head whipped backwards, missing his throat as his fangs dug into the meat of his arms. And for a moment, their eyes met, honey on teal before he released him with a sharp moan, his head falling gracefully back in the water.

The boy muttered something, a curse or a prayer.

And he stabbed down.

Toushiro screamed, his howls like the crack of breaking ice. Blood spilled out of him like rainfall hot and slick, steaming and vivid like ink splatters like a white canvas. The boy blanched at the rush of heat, his hands trembling as he parted the fur around the curve of his ribs, his spine and below his knees. He worked quickly as he skinned him alive, miles and miles of thick white pelt unraveling on the bloodied shores as Toushiro blinked rapidly, as though caught in a dream.

"I'm sorry but I have to do this."

Weakly, he tried to push him away.

When the boy finished, nothing was left of his proud form save for his skin, a sword and the shivering wreck of a body, grimacing as a witness to his crime.

.

The next series of events occurred in stages.

The boy left, then returned, drowned him and hid him away in a small cottage that stank of fish and human flesh. Morning had come and went by the time he gained the strength to sit up, crying out when his skin stuck to the rotted floors, splinters piercing his back. He rolled over quickly, gasping at the exertion and the weakness he felt in his forelimbs. Rubbing his face against one shoulder, he tucked himself against a shadowy corner, eyes fluttering as he dragged his nails down one leg.

Blood erupted in a swirling trail, a glimmer of light in his consciousness.

He was bereft.

He had been violated.

When the boy entered the cottage, Toushiro attacked him, his mouth an ill fit over his own teeth marks. They rolled across the floor, gathering up dust and grime, the hilt of his sword digging into his stomach as the boy bucked beneath him, trying to free his knife from his waist. Toushiro didn't kill him, he couldn't, because he had taken his skin and knew where it was.

And Toushiro knew what it meant for him to be without his skin.

The boy restrained him, wrapping his arms around his narrow shoulders, whispering excuses, promises and reassurances into his matted hair. Toushiro flailed in denial, his fist going through the flooring at one point as he let out a heartbroken howl, as frail and human as the boy beneath him.

"We're alone now."

.

In spring, three wolves appeared at the edge of the woods, frolicking beneath the sky like pups at play. His heartbeat thrummed at the scene, slow to wake. He opened his mouth in greetings but nothing came out, his human mouth too delicate to grasp the harsher consonants that had once been his entire world.

Ichigo took one look at him and fell silent, stricken. One of the wolves howled and he slammed the door closed behind him, curling up in the pile of furs because it _hurt_. Gingerly, Ichigo sat down next to him and wrapped an arm around him despite his "don't"s. The howls stayed with them all night.

.

They stood front to back, staring at where the Hollow lay half-immersed in water, coal-scaled fish darting to and fro to tear a mouthful of flesh. Toushiro parted his mouth at the scene, his tongue flitting out for a taste. He craved its flavor even though he knew that the Hollow's blood would poison him faster than an adder's strike, it would even burn him if he was not careful. But his fingers twitched, giving lie to his mood and Ichigo crossed a possessive arm over his sternum. Toushiro swallowed a whimper and closed a fist.

"You've grown." Ichigo commented idly, breaking into his thoughts. Toushiro looked down and saw that the fox pelt no longer reached the back of his knees. He raised an eyebrow for he had little else to add, his other form had never grown as fast. It had always been a sensitive subject, Hitsugaya the runt, the youngest to be named. He wondered what it meant for his lupine form.

"Do you not like it?"

The blond shook his head, younger than him, merely a boy and not a man, but taller than him and the master of him. "I remember when we first... met." Toushiro stiffened as Ichigo let go and took his hand, thumbing his knuckles and feathering the inside of his wrist. "How... _young_ you were."

He snorted and said evenly, "I remember."

.

In the summer, Shunsui visited their little hut, a rabbit swinging from his jaw as he leisurely made his way across the river. Drinking Ichigo's pithy supply of sake, he lazed in the sun after the long swim, creeping closer to Toushiro when he thought that the other wasn't looking. Eventually, the younger pushed him away and the wolf slunk back with a wounded look, pawing the grass and sighing gustily into his ear.

Glaring, Toushiro took out a small wooden comb and raked it down his tangled fur, growling harsh words when the wolf got too friendly or fussy. When Shunsui left after a lasting, lingering look, Toushiro did not watch him go and if Ichigo stayed up all night with his rifle on his knees, neither mentioned it in the morning.

.

With the ice gone, fewer Hollows took the initiative to cross the waters between them and the village. Those who tried drowned halfway, their massive bulk seemingly a hindrance to their buoyancy. Others went around and were never seen again, picked off by wolves or having found better prospects at another village. But came spring, Hollows were born who could fly in the air. Toushiro lurched, his head snapping back with a crack, the warning on the tip of Ichigo's tongue before he loaded his ancient rifle and shot a cloud of hot powder in the Hollow's face.

Half an hour into their hunt and he'd already run out of bullets, he had forgotten bring extras. The Hollow wailed and took a step back, buying him precious seconds to lung in front of Ichigo and pull him back before he became a smear across the woodland floor. Swiftly, the blond turned around and checked him for injuries other than the hideous cut down his brow. It would scar badly and Toushiro mopped his forehead clean, breathing hard, his grip firm on the hilt of his sword and his body vibrating with something other than excitement or fear.

"We need to get help!"

Only one road led to Ichigo's village and the Hollow had dropped in on the middle out of the blue, scattering the men and boys who had come up early for fishing. The Hollow crowed wildly, the bone-white mask of its face warping into a gleeful sneer. Toushiro tore off a sleeve and tied it around his forehead, getting the blood out of his eyes. He snapped, "What are you doing? Where are your bullets?"

"I ran out okay?"

Four bullets in its skull and the Hollow was moving, sluggishly but steadily. They had been caught unawares; Ichigo thought that Ishida had stepped on a centipede or something. "Oh shit."

"Stand back." Toushiro slid into a stance, his sword gleaming like a blade of light in the sun. A droplet of water landed on his eyelash and disappeared in a blink. In July's stifling heat, snow began to fall, touching the parched earth but briefly before disappearing into the muggy air. His limbs shook with exertion. He added quietly, "I don't want to kill you too."

.

In fall, two wolves were seen near their side of the river, a majestic black beast and a second brindled red. Hoping that they would simply leave, Toushiro kept an eye out for the pair and held his tongue. He continued to hunt Hollows during the day and slept by Ichigo's side at night. Until the blond found them loitering by the woodpile with his rifle loosely slung behind one shoulder and the brindle decided to attack.

Toushiro tackled him and wrestled him sideways, fighting to be heard over the blond's alarmed shouts. Surprised, the wolf lashed out and bit down on his wrist, breaking bone before backing away, a streak of blood down his long, white muzzle, eyes warily focusing on Ichigo.

Ichigo reloaded his gun. "The next one kills."

The brindle snarled and Toushiro threw a rock at his head.

"Abarai! Enough!"

The red wolf whimpered, sounding confused to his deadened hearing. Toushiro shook, his heart beat like a thousand gongs in his ear. He brushed the leaves off his legs, wincing as he picked at the dirt and gravel imbedded in one knee.

"Toushiro?"

"It's fine Kurosaki." He said quietly, tearing himself away. Abarai let out a sharp bark and he flinched, hands itching for his sword. Instead, he went up to Ichigo and pointed the rifle towards the ground. Eyeing the pair askance he said, "They were just leaving." Ichigo opened his mouth as though to say something. Toushiro elbowed him beneath his ribs. "Don't."

.

"Do you miss it?"

The world snapped back into focus, leaving him chilled and reeling in its wake. Toushiro frowned at the question, the way it was phrased, the there-and-gone reference of regret, hearing the words but never their meaning as he turned them over inside his head, over and over like a pup chasing his tail.

Ichigo stared at him with wistful eyes, earthy brown and too kind for him to entertain. Inwardly, Toushiro cursed himself for his carelessness, for allowing the blond to approach so close. Greater beings than he had died for less. And as his forced captivity had proven, there were fates far worse than the prospect of gentle oblivion.

"Of course not."

The lie tasted sweet, almost palpable on his tongue. Toushiro held his sword out, the blade clean whereas he was drenched in red. He tried hard not to linger over the thrill of electricity that shot down his fingers when they touched, too aware of his fragile form and his soul entrapped in steel. And it hurt, seeing his sword, his fang, his _soul_ in the hands of another, someone who had wrongfully taken him from everything he had ever known.

But it hurt more to be standing on two feet, drowning in layers of borrowed skin. Had he been in his true form, he would have laid his ears flat against his skull, announcing his displeasure. No, had he been in his true form, he would not have been here, a slave to another's desires.

Toushiro blinked, suddenly wearied and very tired. "Don't ask stupid questions."

Ichigo kissed him.

Surprised, he kissed him back taking his frustrations out on the blond, biting and clawing, his fingers slipping past the soft furs. It was strange how of all the things he had learned in the world of men, the simple act of greeting and affection was the one he liked best. His bones ached less when the blond was near, like a spot of sunlight through the dense canopy. He hated it when he had to pull away, not enough air in his lungs enough for Ichigo, never enough room in his human heart.

He breathed into the maddening scent of musk and snow, disgusted with the shivers that wracked his body and the soft arousal that claimed his groin. With a jab at the blond's side, they parted, the sting of the early frost between his toes humbling him into quiet compliance. "We're done here."

.

Sometimes Toushiro wondered if Ichigo cared, that he had a family on the other side of the river, that he had a life before beginning the captive life of a Hollow-finder. He sneezed, feeling a bit of breeze seep through the cracks in the walls. Ichigo sighed and curled around him shamelessly, pressing a quick kiss behind his ear as he whispered, "That's going to feel real comfortable in the morning".

.

"Why don't you ever go with them?"

"Huh?"

"The women" Toushiro said, "they look at you."

"Probably because they've never seen anyone with white hair and green eyes before." The blond pointed out easily.

"You don't understand. They _look_ at you."

Ichigo shook his head. "They deserve better."

"You deserve better. How long do you intend to stay here, this thankless job of hunting Hollows?"

"Right and leave you here all by yourself?"

He scowled immediately. "I belong out here."

When the laughter peters off he added, "Orihime and the others, they all want you."

"Well," Ichigo said smiling, "I have you."

.

It started with the little things, light-headedness and the weakness in his limbs like ants crawling in his bones. Sometimes, he had fits of coughing that would knock him back and leave him hanging onto a wall, a tree stump or anything solid enough to qualify as a crutch as he spat out mouthfuls of black liquid too sweet and sticky to be blood. Ichigo kept him home as much as possible, the Hollows repelled with only sheer grit and perseverance. But winter came when Toushiro's eyes were so bruised he could barely see, even after washing his face with a handful of snow.

There was a trickle of blood on his cheekbones when his eyes flitted open, seeing the upside down image of Ichigo and his rifle, his hand on the door. "Wait," he coughed, hand splayed across his bony ribs. "I'm coming with you."

Ichigo stared at him incredulously. "Are you insane?" He demanded, shoving him back in the pile of fur. Toushiro shivered at the brief contact, but this time the reaction wasn't born of desire of anything close to it.

"I don't care."

He coughed again, exhaling poisoned air. "You can't keep me here."

"I can damn well try."

"It could be a Hollow."

"You're sick." Ichigo protested. His hands felt like a brand.

"It matters little. Now give me my sword." He saw the blond wavering. Seasons had passed quick and though the summer saw Hollows a plentiful harvest in deer and bears, Hollows were not staples of a wolf's diet and the two species were quickly running out of food while competing with humans. Wolves would not help them. Toushiro lifted himself from the floor, his chest already heaving with exhaustion.

Ichigo nodded. "I want you to know, I'm doing this under duress."

"Duly noted."

.

Afterwards, Toushiro voiced out loud what he had known for a while.

"I'm dying."

.

"I'm a wolf Kurosaki." He said sharply, sharper than necessary as Ichigo gripped him tight and demanded to know what he was talking about. "My kind were never meant to live as humans even if we have this form."

"I'm killing you." Ichigo said, sounding a little broken as he backed away.

Toushiro hesitated in his answer, remembering that Ichigo was very young even in the eyes of men. "I… yes."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"What good would it have done?" Toushiro stepped close, grabbing the blond's sleeves and burying his face in his scent. "You were right. We are alone."

"If... if I..."

He sighed. "Yes."

Ichigo kissed him, fierce and wonderful, like it would be the last chance he'd get before a long dry spell. He calmly leaned into it, allowing the boy to have what measure of comfort before his inevitable end, wondering if his pack, his family remembered, on the other side of the river where he had been born. Wondering if they would miss him like Ichigo would, an adopted sibling, partner, mate, captives to each other and answering him to none.

Toushiro wasn't surprised when Ichigo left, choosing instead to settle uneasily in the makeshift bed on the floor. He dozed, dreaming of prey and teeth that were not swords. Days might have passed as he slept, civilizations rising then ruined, the stars subtly changing their shapes in the sky. He remembered the ghostly apparition of his name drawn on ice because he was winter-born and youngest to be named. Because he had a greater destiny than skulking around human villages and hiding his kills, even if it meant losing his skin and shackled at a boy's side, not a man, not really, till the remainder of his days, languishing because he couldn't leave and ultimately couldn't stay.

When he woke, he was out in the snow, cradled in Ichigo's lap.

"I'm not dead yet." He said crankily.

Ichigo brushed back an unruly lock of hair. "I know."

His eyes widened. "What..."

"It's for you."

Toushiro knelt at the boy's feet, his skin in his hands, smaller than he remembered, his body long since grown. It was white, pristine and clean, no traces violence when Ichigo cut it from his body, no holes to mark where a bullet had passed through right beneath one shoulder and out his chest. He checked from the length of his tail and black-lined eyeholes, rubbing his face all over the soft fur, feeling like a pup discovering first snow.

He looked up, startled and suddenly hyperaware of where he was and what it meant. Ichigo reached out and placed a hand over his head, under his chin and down one shoulder. Already, the hunter looked far away and foreign, raising hair on the nape of his neck as he fought the flight response and recklessly pressed close, heat barely transmissible through their clothed bodies. And this time, Toushiro kissed him, biting and pulling at his blond hair.

And as soon as he had started it, he stopped, stepping backwards.

"Ichigo"

"Goodbye Toushiro."


End file.
